


and you laugh like you've never been lonely

by sergeant_smudge



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bagels, Bucky Barnes Is Safe And Warm, Domestic, Fluff, Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Recovery, worried steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_smudge/pseuds/sergeant_smudge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which Bucky Barnes is safe, warm, and happy. Featuring coffee and bagels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you laugh like you've never been lonely

_and you laugh like there's hope in the story //_

 

The TV is on, but muted.

A small humming fan shifts the warm air as it turns lazily through the room. Bucky’s quiet snores lift above the whirring, his limbs spilling over the edges of the couch.

            Steve steps into the living room, quietly thanks the government-assigned psychiatrist meandering through a sentence about medications, and hangs up the phone.

            Bucky shifts, and the blanket crumpled at his ankles slides to the floor.

            This peace is like a bubble, or maybe something protected _by_ a bubble. Bucky sleeps and cracks jokes and eats regularly. Steve can walk up behind him without a full warning and not be punched. Well, maybe not so much that last one.

            But the days are softer and the nights are quieter.

Maybe it’s not Good. Not yet.

But things are Steady. And that’s enough for now.

So he clicks off the TV and retreats quietly into his bedroom, smiling in spite of himself as Bucky’s metal fingertips brush the fibers of the worn carpet.

 

The next morning, Steve wakes up and doesn’t find Bucky next to him. It’s not… entirely unusual. They have separate rooms for a reason after all, and if Bucky chooses to climb under Steve’s covers in the small hours of the night, who’s he to judge?

He sits up anyway, swinging socked feet over the edge of the mattress, and padding out to the kitchenette. Bucky isn’t there.

There’s coffee brewed.

Steve rushes to Bucky’s (technical) room, but it’s quiet. The house is still that same brand of peaceful, quiet and still, but Steve can’t help but feel uneasy now. The bed is made with hospital corners, and Bucky’s shoes are missing from beside his nightstand. Steve’s stomach drops.

The apartment’s cranky coffee pot takes fifteen minutes to brew a full pot, meaning Bucky’s been gone _at least_ that long.

Cursing under his breath, he stuffs his legs into jeans, undone belt flapping at his hips, and pulls a sweatshirt over his bare chest. He’s forcing his left foot into a still-laced boot when he hears keys scratching at the front door lock.

He jumps up, nearly tripping over himself in pursuit of the door. He opens it as Bucky’s hand is on the doorknob, shocking both parties. Bucky nearly drops the paper bag he’s holding – and what is he holding? Where has he been? Why was he gone so early?

“Are you going somewhere?” Bucky asks, shifting the bag higher into the crook of his arm. Steve cocks his head, baffled. Bucky looks him up and down, gesturing at his sole boot with his keys, the metal clinking together.

“No,” Steve says quietly, breathing a relieved smile. “Not going anywhere.” Bucky shrugs off his confusion, edging past him on his way to the kitchen.

“I got bagels,” he says softly. His voice is so small nowadays, Steve notes. It’s low and husky and unsure, but somehow it’s still _Bucky_. “But, um, I couldn’t remember – I don’t know which kind you liked – like, so I just got some different ones.” His fingers worry at the rippled edge of the bag; his eyes looking up from over the dark smudges of his cheekbones.

“It’s fine, Buck. I’m not picky. You are – _were_ the one who was picky about bagels,” he replies, and his smile is like the sun.

“I made coffee,” Bucky murmurs, worrying at his bottom lip with his thumb.

“I saw,” Steve says, distractedly inspecting a sesame seed bagel.

“You take it black, with too much sugar,” he says, pulling two chipped mugs down from the cabinet. Steve grins again, like he’s _proud_ , or _impressed_ , or _something_ , that Bucky can’t quite place. “What?” Bucky says, and immediately regrets it when the smile fades.

“You sounded like – “ Steve shakes his head. “You always used to say that to me, that I was wasting the sugar. ‘Cos we could never afford it.”

Bucky pauses, weighing the sugar container in his hand with an intense concentration. “Yeah, ‘cos you’d use half the damn jar for one cuppa coffee.” And Steve’s eyes go half a notch wider in surprise before he breaks out in peals of laughter. Bucky makes an attempt at a smile in response, and Steve pulls the sugar from his fingers.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Steve says, spooning it into his mug.

There’s an expectance in the air that Bucky can feel, and he _almost_ knows what to say. Steve looks up from under his eyelashes, realizing something is wrong. Bucky’s throat works, his eyebrows knitting together. Steve opens his mouth to help, but Bucky speaks first.

“Don’t use all the sugar, _punk,”_ and rolls it out of Steve’s hand, carefully measuring out a spoonful for his own coffee.

Steve Rogers smiles down at his coffee like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling to write Bucky angst, so I thought I'd start with some classic fluff. If you're looking for the hard stuff, it's coming up.
> 
> title from Bones by Ben Howard


End file.
